It's happened again.
The stupidity. The naivety. The unrealistic hope.
The hope that maybe, this time... I don't know.
Maybe this time I could get my way. Maybe I wouldn't have been so trusting, so willing. Maybe he could have been different. He was the same.
They're all the same.
I held out for something that could never happen. I hoped the truth (and the truth about me) wouldn't matter. But the truth always matters and always sets you free.
I didn't want to be set free, this time. I wanted to he captivated in the dream world of lies that I had created. I yearned to live in the denial that I had so artistically formed... maybe part of me is still there.
Maybe that's why it's so hard.